


Remember Me (When it’s Time to Leave)

by TheQueen



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 03:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11958735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheQueen/pseuds/TheQueen
Summary: Shiro remembers Lance as he’s dying.





	Remember Me (When it’s Time to Leave)

Shiro remembers as he’s dying. 

The world is shaking, crumbling and falling apart. The fighting is growing closer and closer. In the distance, he hears Keith and his sword, Pidge and her bayard. Hunk and his machine gun, He hears Allura rallying the troops; echoes more than shouts. They all feel so distant, so far away. Even as the shaking grows closer and closer and...

He realizes he’s dying.

_ “Wake up,” _ someone whispers.

He can’t see. He can’t feel. His limbs belong to someone else. The world is falling apart and someone is screaming.

_ Wake up.  _

He’s cold. He’s hot. He’s tired. He closes his eyes. 

.

_ Wake up _

.

Shiro watches with unseeing eyes as a spider delicately climbs its way down his wall, past the mysterious stains and slashes of a child’s uncoordinated pen to the swirled marble, before skittering its tiny little legs over to the fruit bowl with its overly ripe bananas and peaches and green grapes. It struggles, for a single, solitary moment, to heft its body over the rim before settling past Shiro’s eyesight and into the mush.

_ Bugs _ , Lance had groaned, eyebrows scrunched together as he watched the ant line move back and forth between their swinging porch door. Disgusting.

_ Dis-gusting, _ their boys had echoed. Two soft tiny voices to his right.

_ They’re necessary _ , Shiro had half-heartedly argued before reaching for his cell phone to call someone to take care of it. Necessary, but unnecessary in his house, in his kitchen. Necessary, but not in the pantry or the fridge.

Shiro sighs and looks away to the window and then back into the kitchen. Bored. Bored. Bored. He hadn’t planned on boredom. Hadn’t planned on anything but grief when he’d canceled his heating and lighting and gas and water. In some ways he hadn’t really planned on even grieving.

He stands and moves, knees aching like an old man’s and back twinging. He pauses for a moment near the fridge--two steps to his right while his stomach takes a moment to gurgle--before moving towards the bedroom. Dust settles in the air, scattered from his sudden movement--suspended in beams of light before the wind carried them away.

He leans back into his pillows and, for a moment, attempts to breathe in the scent past his own; the sheets yellowing after too long of pressing his face into the same place.

_ Dis-gusting, _ he hears his boys echo and the rumble in the back of his throat is something like a laugh.

From here he can see out past the windows that had made Lance fall in love with this place to their backyard and from there to the ever expanding sea. He can imagine the sound of crashing waves against the rocks.  A blueberry house by the seaside. High up on a cut of cliffs ranging from hot brown dirt, yellow scotch broom flowers, and thin green grass. A dream house. A house to raise a family in.

Lance had grown up by the sea. His children would grow by the sea. Shiro had not argued.

His children had died one year ago.

In the same way the water crashed against the cliffs, so had his children. Swept away in the early morning by a storm.

Shiro had been there. Shiro had watched from the safety of their porch as he’d called the children in. The wind too strong. The rain too hard. They’d been standing by the cliffs, overlooking the ocean. From a deep blue to a dark gray, the water had churned and churned. They had watched. Despite his cries for them to come inside, they had stood to watch as he had watched.

When Lance came home, groceries in the back of the trunk to weather the storm, he had still been standing on the porch, beaten by the water and the wind. When he’d told him, Lance had frowned.

_ No they’re not, _ Lance had said.

Shiro had said nothing, eyes still turned to the cliff and beyond that to the ocean, and to the storm.

_ No they’re not, _ Lance had said as he moved out past the safety of the porch to the grass and then to the mud. 

_ No they’re not,  _ he had said as he had thrown himself forward to look out over the cliff, thin lanky body wiggling his way just far enough to look out where the rock met water. 

_ No they’re not,  _ he’d screamed as he’d thrown himself into the house, waterlogged and muddy.

Shiro had just cleaned those floors.

_ No they’re not, _ he’d begged when the police came, when the firemen came, when the town came.

Shiro had watched.

Shiro had watched as Lance packed his bags, had taken the keys, had gathered their memories. Two soccer shoes, two sets of sippy cups, two inflated red balls. Quietly he’d made a box. Two sets of matching blue socks. Two baby blankets. Two pacifiers.

Shiro had watched as the movers came and took their things. His lawyer had argued. Lance had given him the house--his money had been in the down payment--the second car, and a good portion of their shared account.

“I can’t stay,” Lance had said when they’d signed the divorce papers. 

“I’m sorry,” he’d said when he climbed into the car that would take him far, far away.

Shiro watches a bird land on one of their overgrown hedges to needle at a berry. He sighs, turns and feels the crinkle of fabric against his neck shift to hold his weight. He closes his eyes and waits for sleep. 

.

_ Wake up _

.

Shiro tears at the slice of orange until there is nothing but a pale yellow mat. His fingers feel sticky with the drying juice as Lance laughs and moves forward with a napkin to dab his cheek. “It’s like you’ve never eaten an orange before.”

He hasn’t… Or… he has but he doesn’t remember. He knows what to do, how to eat it. To consume only the stringy flesh and leave the skin behind. He has had this before. He’d just forgotten. 

Allura remarks something to Lance. Something about his condition; his memory. The Galra had rewrote him, had made him forget. He pokes at the thought and then discards it. Unnecessary. The small one, Pidge, believes she can reverse the process. The large one, Hunk, encourages caution. 

Shiro does not care. He can relearn. He discards the skin and picks at the leaf. 

“It’s good for you,” Keith says, “but it tastes bitter.”

He nods in understanding and then turns to Lance. Lance smiles, “he’s right.”

Shiro nods and takes a bite. Bitter. He discards the uneaten half and removes the banana. It squishes between his metal fingers and gets stuck under the nails of his human hand. He does not like it. He sets it down and shakes his hand when he notices the pieces that stay. 

“Woah!” Lance cries, reaching out and then stopping. Shiro stills, breathes carefully. His handler does not like it when he shakes his fingers. He sets them down on the table and tries not to show his discomfort at the way the mush catches in his joints. “We don’t shake. We wipe it away so it doesn’t fling everywhere, okay?”

Shiro nods after a moment and follows Lance into the washroom once directed. 

“You’re catching on,” Lance tells him cheerfully. “You were just raised a little differently and mistakes are expected and it’s okay.” He says this like it’s rehearsed. He’s talking fast.

Nervous, Shiro decides. He takes the hand Lance is using to remove the banana from his metal one and pats it delicately. The first time he’d taken Lance’s hand he had crushed it. He had been trying to kill the princess--Allura--and Lance had been there. The fastest way to incapacitate a gunner is to crush his hand. 

Now he takes it gently. It has healed well. 

“I’m fine,” Lance whispers after a moment. The water is running and Shiro moves to stop it. Hunk had been clear to encourage the avoidance of waste. His handler has bags under his eyes. In this light it is easier to see where his application of make-up had been sloppy. 

Shiro takes a deep breath and weaves their fingers together. Lance smiles and moves them to the door, then out into the hallway. His handler is unwell.

“Shiro…” Lance starts before Shiro moves them down the hall and to the sleeping quarters and then to Lance’s room. His handler needs rest. “Are you tired?”

Shiro lies because he’s learnt that people are allowed to lie here. He nods. 

“Do you want to sleep?” Lance asks as Shiro removes his shoes and then his shirt. Shoes are not allowed on the bed here. And it is too warm to sleep with a shirt. Comfort is allowed here. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

Shiro nods and then moves to undo Lance’s shoes. Lance laughs and steps away. “I can do it,” Lance promises. “Why don’t you sit on the bed?”

Shiro sits. 

When Lance is done removing his shoes he walks to the bed and Shiro moves so Lance can climb in and tuck himself against the wall. Shiro lies down next to him. Lance insists on a blanket and Shiro has learned not to argue. From here he can watch the exit. He lies flat on his back and waits for Lance to lean closer. 

“Still can’t get over the fact that you’re a cuddler,” Lance mumbles. His voice already slurring with sleep. Shiro smiles and watches the door and keep’s Lance warm at his side. 

After a few moments, it is easy to fall asleep as well.

. 

_ Wake up _

.

Shiro watches Pidge sigh, pushing Keith off her to have enough room to open the pent house door. “There are no perks to being the sober friend,” she announces solemnly to the living room. Hunk pokes his head out of the kitchen. Shiro jauntily waves to him, grinning.

“Hunk,” he cheers, moving from where he and Lance had been leaning against each other in the doorway to wrap his arms around his favorite. “You’re my favorite.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow, but returns the hug well enough. “I’m your favorite? Hear that Allura?  I’m Shiro’s favorite.”

Shiro looks over Hunk’s shoulder to see Allura sitting at the kitchen table, probably drinking coffee and booze. All is right with the world.

“Doesn’t count when he’s drunk, Hunk,” Allura rolls her eyes and Shiro grins at her.

“How much have they had to drink?” Hunk asks Pidge and  _ Hey! _ Shiro is right here, ya know? He counted his drinks… right? He thinks he did. He knows how to pace himself. He’s a grown fucking man, thank you very much.

He tries to tell Hunk this, but his lips seem stuck together. He grunts instead.

“A lot,” Pidge offers, dropping Keith onto the couch. Keith hadn’t had anything to the drink. He was just tired. Shiro catches Keith’s eye and sticks his tongue out.

Keith flips him off.

Rude.

Shiro moves, finds himself standing in front of Lance and blinks. A bit confused. “I have rude friends,” he tells Lance with all the seriousness he can muster.

Lance nods with the same amount of seriousness. “I know.”

Shiro frowns. “I should go to bed.”

Lance nods again. “I know.”

Together they hobble up the stairs as Shiro calls a happy good night. Sleep and alcohol making it harder to move his legs up than it should be. When they get to the door, Shiro blinks. Once. Twice. Confused when Lance moves away. “Aren’t you coming in?” Shiro manages.

Lance flushes, leans forward and kisses Shiro on the cheek. “Maybe next time, Takashi.”

Shiro grins, then shrugs. “Alright.” And promptly face plants into his bed. 

.

_ Wake up _

.

Lance catches Shiro when it’s all over.

Takes him back to a rebel base in a beaten, shot up hunk of junk they manage to steal from the wreckage of the battlefield, the Republic on the lookout for any alliance cruisers. Keith is asleep, breathing slowly with his head still on Shiro’s lap because no one has dared to separate them.

When they get to the base, Coran takes no time moving Keith the med bay before Lance is there. He helps Shiro find his way to a bathroom to wash off the dust and ash and blood; takes time to lean in, splash water behind Shiro’s ears and Shiro laughs for a moment before he catches himself, mouth pressed shut so Lance can press a kiss to shaggy wet curls; let’s Shiro lean on him when his legs give out, so when he tries to step out of the tub he lands on his knees. The bed is a godsend. The pillows like clouds, the blanket a secure weight around his chest. When Shiro manages to open his eyes again, there’s water on the tableside and Lance is gone.

He feels a deep ache in the pit of his stomach that only comes after the adrenaline has left you to suffer as he considers getting up. But the rattle of a gun and the deep boom of an explosion are suffocating in his ear, and he can’t stop feeling blood under his fingernails even though he’d scrubbed them until Lance had told him to stop. So instead he just lies there and when Lance slips under the covers after a few long hours, only then does Shiro let’s his eyes slide shut. 

.

_ Wake up _

.

He’s halfway to fast asleep as the train chugs merrily across the city, the steady sound of wheels on steel and passing wind heard just above the sound of his music, when he notices him. 

He’s beautiful. Not in the ordinary way that you usually think of when you see a stranger, but truly beautiful. Vibrant blue eyes, a soft smile, long limbs. The sort of beautiful you think of when you see people in magazines. Shiro wonders if he’s famous. He doesn’t look famous sitting there on the same uncomfortable train seats, his headphones plugged in as he scrolls passively through his phone. Rather, he looks like he could be famous. They were heading towards LA afterall. Maybe one day he would be famous. 

Shiro wonders if he’d see him around then, if he, this beautiful stranger, managed to make it. Shiro wonders if he’ll look across the room of some promotional event and see him rubbing elbows with rich and famous. Shiro wonders if then he’ll have the confidence to walk over with a glass of something fancy in his hand and ask for his name. 

Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe Shiro will look and remember and find himself too flustered to do anything more than look. 

Either way he’ll have to see. 

He falls asleep as the train slows to a stop. 

.

_ Wake up _

.

The nights grow colder and colder the longer they wait for rescue. 

“They’re not coming,” Lance will mumble, forever yo-yoing from the deep despair of capture and the hope of rescue. “They’re not coming and we’re going to die here.”

_ Maybe, _ Shiro thinks. “Don’t give up hope,” is what he says. 

“I’m scared,” Lance whispers.

Shiro shuffles closer, feels where his knees ache from the interrogation of the day. Healing pods are only able to heal damage. It would take time for the mind to remember there is no more pain. “We’ll be okay,” he says, drawing Lance close into his arms. “We’ll make it through this.”

_ You’ll make it through this, _ Shiro thinks.  _ If I have to die to ensure it, you’ll make it through this. _

They fall asleep to the sounds and groans of a ship crawling its way through space, curled up in each other’s arms.

.

_ Wake up _

.

Lance presses tender kisses along his neck and only holds on tighter as Shiro slowly wakes up. “Tickles,” he whines even as he twirls his tail around Lance’s and moves to press his cold nose against Lance’s skin.

Lance shrieks and attempts to wiggle away

“Too much movement,” Shiro jokes as he moves until he is on top, trapping Lance close. “Shhh, sleeping.”

“Shiro!” Lance cries. “Up! We have appointments. Keith will be here any minute.”

“He can wait,” Shiro promises. “He’ll make us breakfast.”

“You’re spoiled,” Lance says as he moves even closer so Shiro can feel the movement of water against his face as Lance breaths. “Terribly spoiled.”

“He’s bringing Hunk,” Shiro says. “They’ll cook. We’ll sleep another minute.”

“Spoiled,” Lance laughs as Shiro drifts slowly back to sleep. “Terribly spoiled.” 

_. _

_ Wake up _

.

Shiro feels the blood slip down his arms and squints through the harsh purple light. “Where. Is. Voltron?” the Galra snarls.

Shiro pays him no mind.  _ Voltron. Voltron. Voltron.  _ They’ll ask again. Shiro will not respond. They’ll hurt him. It’s a cycle. Familiar, almost. He drops his head to the side and makes out Lance chained against the wall. He’s stopped crying. Good.

His vision blurs. He blinks. Focuses on the way Lance watches him with wide-eyes and tries to smile. Bloodloss. Do galra know how much blood humans can lose? Do they care?

“Voltron,” the Galra barks, grabbing his arm.

It hurts. He sees the world growing darker. He’s tired.

He slips away before the Galra can repeat the question. 

.

_ Wake up _

_. _

The dirt and the muck give under his knees as the American throws him to the ground. Around them the screams of the fallen echo over the fields and trenches. The last of his brothers in arms dying somewhere in the distance. 

He will join them soon. 

He feels the butt of the gun against his head and breathes. The blast comes on the exhale. 

.

_ Wake up _

.

The wedding is beautiful. Gold and blue. White flowers along the aisle. Fitting. 

Shiro watches Lance say,  _ I do _ , to someone else and closes his eyes. 

.

_ Please _

.

Shiro watches with unseeing eyes as the blood slip across the tiled cell floor and wonders as everything goes blank. 

.

.

.

The priestess of a dead god ties two red strings around their wrists as they promise forever. 

.

.

.

.

.

He wakes to a world made of ice.  Frost settles deep in his lungs and he forces himself to breath past the nip in his bones and the ache in his limbs. The hands--furless and five fingered--feel like burns across his skin while he stumbles forward, catching him before his knees hit the ground. 

And…

It all feels  _ fake.  _

The light. The sound. The voices as they pull at his senses. Shiro. Shiro. Shiro. Him. He’s here. He woke up. He… He…

“Shiro!” And he feels his breath leave him as he opens his eyes. Lance is crying. His arms like brands across Shiro’s frozen chest. He’s in the med bay, Shiro thinks. He’s in the castle. He’s in space. He’s alive. He has Lance in his arms.

Slowly, he hugs back. 

“You woke up,” Lance gasps past sobs and Shiro hugs him tighter. He’s whole. He’s awake and the blood he remembers on the floor is long gone (and the lives he remembers in the back of his mind are…). 

“You’re safe,” Shiro chokes out. 

“I’m safe,” Lance promises. 

(He remembers blood and gore and galra.)

“I woke up,” Shiro mumbles.

(He remembers children and fame and wars he’s never fought in and lives he’s never lived and...)

“You woke up,” Lance promises.

(...and..) 

He woke up. He woke up. 

(It all feels fake.)

Right?

.

_ Right? _

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> It's out!! I've been sitting on this fic for ages. Glad I was finally able to share it. Please let me know what you think!!
> 
> Shout out to my beautiful, amazing, godly betas: onoheiwa & acchan!
> 
> Please support me on my writing blog: thequeen117.tumblr.com


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